Rangor's Odyssey
by Rangor
Summary: An enemy from Rangor's past has resurfaced. Rangor faces a journey to seek revenge.
1. Goblinslayer

Rangor took a moment to catch his breath. He'd backed up a few steps, which gave him a few seconds to himself. He rubbed an oval shaped scar on his left arm.  
It was not a long enough moment. The goblin came straight back at him, claws trying to scratch his face. The thing was about the same height as him, but much worse breath. It's breathing was as ragged as Rangor's own, forcing a putrid wave of rotten meat into his nostrils. Being a dwarf, Rangor's race had long ago adapted to bad smells. When mining, gas can escape from the ground, and who knows what will be dug up. Centuries of this had forced the dwarven nasal system to change. But still, the smell of half digested snake meat made Rangor want to vomit.  
In fear of his life, he deflected the goblin's main blow with his shield, leaving scratch marks on the surface. Dagger in the other hand, he thrust a killing blow at the goblins heart. Unfortunately, the dagger missed the target and cut the foul creature's ribs instead. Still, every blow counted.  
Two things were driving the young dwarf at the moment. The first was the rage he felt. He had a personal history with goblins. A more recent history with this goblin in particular. Rangor hadn't learned how to take a defeat yet... Earlier that same day, Rangor left Kaladim with fellow rogue and friend, Glodsson. They were deep in discussion about the different methods of training each had.  
"The way I see it, the more agile you are, the less chance your opponent has in hitting you." Glodsson stated, perhaps for the third time in 2 minutes.  
Rangor shook his head. "The flaw in your argument is that when a blow lands, it's gonna hurt. Plus, the stronger you are, the faster the fight is going to end"  
"But if the fight drags on, you're gonna wish you were able to avoid a few of those hits"  
Rangor held up his hand. When he was sure he had Glodsson's attention, he pointed to a goblin a little way ahead. It was Glodsson's turn to shake his head.  
"What is it with you and goblins? You don't stop talking about them. You wanna be one, or something"  
Rangor shot him such a look of loathing that Glodsson actually flinched.  
"Fine. Well, if you wanna do it, go ahead. I'm headin' back in to get a drink"  
With that, he turned around and went back into Kaladim, nodding at the guards as he passed. Rangor made his way to the hill where he saw the goblin pass over.  
As he got near the top of the hill, he saw the goblin standing around. He tucked his long blonde beard into his belt, to stop it getting in the way, and began to sneak up behind it. However, he was as quiet as a heard of running elephants. The goblin turned on Rangor and tried to wrap his hands around his neck. The dwarf's neck was thicker than the goblin had anticipated, though, and its fingers didn't meet each other. Rangor brought his arms up and batted the goblin's stringy arms away, and struck out with his dagger.  
The fight seemed to be going well, for the first few seconds. Somehow, though, the goblin was beginning to overwhelm him.  
Rangor looked over his shoulder. He was too far from the guards to get their attention. Fear began to creep in to his mind. Maybe, just maybe, it would be wiser to make a tactical retreat and fight again when he was better rested, less hungry.  
Back a step, then another. It was dawning on him that he had gotten himself into more trouble than he could handle. A pretty major mistake, looked like he wouldn't make another.  
He was bleeding now from at least a dozen small wounds; whereas all the goblin had was two or three small cuts. His strength was draining from him, he was getting weaker.  
Rangor collapsed on the floor, battling with consciousness. As he looked up, he saw the goblin, grinning over him. Its jagged teeth drew ever closer to Rangor's arm. It meant to eat him, he knew, but there was nothing he could do to stop it, so he did the only thing he could think of. He passed out from the pain.

Coming as a complete surprise to him, Rangor awoke. When his eyes closed after the fight, the last thing he expected to do was survive. He'd expected to be nothing but a meatless skeleton by now.  
Rangor looked at his arm. It had a bandage on it, as did most of his body. He looked around, to figure out where he was. In a small room, in a blood stained bed. Apart from the bed, there was nothing else in the room.  
He got up, and went over to the door. On the other side, Glodsson was chatting with a high elven girl. She had red hair, tied up at the back. Against her chair were a large shield and a club.  
As he opened the door wider, it creaked, which startled the elf. She stood up, momentarily forgetting that she was in a dwarven building, and hit her head on the ceiling. She fell back again, stunned. As she pulled her hand from her head, fresh blood was left on her hand. She cursed in elfish, stood up slower, and chanted. Her head was covered in a blue glow, and when she touched it with her other hand, no blood came away.  
Glodsson suppressed a laugh, but when he saw Rangor, his face easily became serious.  
"You're a lucky son of a she-wolf, you know. That goblin was about to make a meal of you. This lass here cast a spell on it as it sank its teeth into you. It yelped and ran away. I was bringing you a vodka some warrior had given me, which she insisted I pour on your wounds. I bandaged you up as best I could, then she said a few funny words and you were covered in pretty blue lights. The remaining wounds I couldn't cover healed themselves up"  
Rangor looked at the elf. She was pretty, in a tall, stretched out sort of way. She would look better with a short beard.  
"You're a cleric?" he enquired of her.  
She nodded. "Yes, but I've just started out. I had just handed over some belts to Mr Nusbeck, and was on my way home when I saw you in trouble"  
Rangor dropped to one knee. "Then I swear to you, should you ever need my services for anything, you need but ask. I am Rangor, son of Rangar"  
The elven girl smiled as she removed his dressings. "I am Weeno. Your wounds have healed nicely, except for this one." She pointed to the oval shape on Rangor's arm. "That's where the goblin bit you. I'm afraid this scar will stay with you for as long as your arm is attached to your shoulder"  
Rangor looked at his arm. The wound was very red. When he looked at it, he recalled how close he had come to dying out there. If it weren't for his friend and this elf, he'd be inside a goblin stomach right now. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got. He knew what he wanted to do, and knew he would succeed.  
He picked up his weapons, and began to move to the door.  
"You want company?" Glodsson asked of him.  
Rangor looked back at the two of them. With their help, the three of them would easily overcome the goblin. But then nothing would be gained. His pride would still be hurt, and he would have no way to mend it.  
"No. I would rather do this on my own." He turned to leave, but a delicate hand touched his shoulder.  
"Then at least let me help you in the best way I can." With that, Weeno began to chant again.

With his mind back in the present again, Rangor looked at the goblin. True enough, his rage was driving him toward victory, but the second thing driving him was the spells that the elf had cast on him before he left. They made him more resilient in the battle.  
He could see the goblin was scared now. It had defeated him before, and had fully expected a repeat performance. It wasn't going according to plan. The dwarf was hardly hurt at all.  
The goblin turned and ran. The fight was as good as over. In a few strides, the goblin fell over, the life in it's body faded.  
Without pride, Rangor knelt over the corpse and searched its pockets. A few silver and a bottle of alcohol. He downed the drink and stood up.  
He looked around himself. There were bats flying around, snakes slithering through the grass. Small scarabs were crawling around and a skeleton on the verge of decay was minding it's own business.  
He looked back at the ex-goblin. He felt no pride over his victory. He had expected to feel joy that he had overcame his defeat, but he felt empty instead.  
Rangor knew he had a thing against goblins, but this wasn't the one he wanted dead. It was a mere whelp. The goblin he held a grudge against was still out there, far away from Kaladim. He swore that one day, he would have revenge for what it had taken from him. 


	2. Crushed

As usual, Rangor was drinking alone. He had four empty tankards on the counter in front of him, and was quaffing his fifth. By dwarven standards, he was drinking lightly.  
He put the now empty tankard on the counter.  
"This time I wanna short ale, Hanamaf. Be sure to give it a nice head." Halflings were not a common sight in Kaladim, so when one came walking through, looking at a rough drawn map, the guards were naturally dubious. The halfling was oblivious to the attention he was getting, though. He would walk a few steps, look confused, chant to himself to make himself face North, then check his map again.  
After walking back and forth a seemingly chaotic path, he found himself standing outside Pub Kal. He opened the door and walked in.  
The whole room lapsed into silence. Seeing as how the whole room consisted of Rangor finishing his drink, Hanamaf Darkfoam serving another, and Dura Darkfoam brewing some more, this did not take too much effort.  
"Are... Are you Rangor, son of Rangar?" the youth asked. He was hesitent with his question, almost apologising with his tone.  
"Depends on who's asking, and what business you want of him." Rangor replied, in his deep, gruff voice.  
"I.. I've, umm, been sent by Hibbs Rootenpaw." This got Rangor's attention. "You asked him to, err, keep you updated on the situation. He sent me to tell you that the Lord has recovered from his injuries, and has resurfaced"  
Rangor looked into his latest empty tankard for a while. The halfling thought he had not been heard, and was going to repeat himself, but was interupted.  
"What'ss your name, halfling"  
"People who know me call me Melak. Those that don't know me don't call me at all." He smiled, having gained confidence from his attempted humour.  
"Well, Melak, I know you've come a long way, so I don't suppose it'd bother you to go a bit further"  
Melak looked crestfallen. Not only did his joke go unnoticed, but he wouldn't get the chance to rest just yet.  
"I need you to head to Felwithe and find a cleric named Weeno Newfin. Tell her what you told me, and bring her back here. Don't worry, you'll be back in a few hours"  
"Yessir. And what will you do"  
"I'll do what I do best. Hanamaf! A dwarven ale if you please."

Rangor had left the pub for a few hours, but had now returned, to see if Melak and the others were around. Only Hanamaf and Dura were there, and told him that Melak hadn't returned.  
He shook his head. "Never send a halfling to do a dwarf's job"  
He made his way out of Kaladim and headed to the Greater Faydark, cutting down a few goblins on his way. As he passed the Crossroads in Butcherblock Mountains, he saw a dark elf, just standing around, watching him as he passed. Rangor shrugged it off. If the blue skin wanted to fight, he'd make him sorry.  
After a while, he entered Greater Fay. Near the pass from Butcherblock to Greater Fay, a small band of blue skinned orcs were huddled. They came from Crushbone, the home of most of the orcs on the continent of Faydwer. Crushbone was North of here, past Kelethin. Rangor had no reason to be going that way.  
One of the smallest orcs tried to walk toward Rangor, without seeming as if he had any intent. The rest of the orcs were sniggering. Suddenly, the orc pulled an axe from out of nowhere and attacked Rangor. The orc was so small, the only way he could hope to hurt him was if Rangor were to get rust poisoning from the axe. With barely a glance, Rangor smashed the orc on the top of it's head with his fist, and kept walking. By now, the other orcs were beside themselves with laughter, although this made them sound as if they were in a great deal of pain. If he were not in such a rush, he would have seen to it that they were.

Felwithe. The home of the high-elves. They were the most intelligent of all the elves, and made up most of Norrath's casters.  
It was also where Weeno lived. She had journeyed with Rangor a few times, and he liked to have her around. As fast as he could gain injuries in battles, she could heal them. This made fights more enjoyable, and he looked forward to bringing her along on his quest.  
"Hello." She had a warm, friendly voice. Even the one word was enough to make him smile.  
From the very first moment he laid eyes on her, he had felt an attraction. It may have been just concussion from the goblin fight, but it was there. Granted, he only came to just above her belly, and true, she didn't have a beard like a real woman should have, but their time together had made that attraction grow. Then there was a time when things could have changed for them. Weeno had a tough choice to make. To Rangor's mind, to this day, she still made the wrong choice.  
"It's been a while. What brings you to the home of elves?" she asked, a smile on her lips.  
"I sent a halfling messenger. He didn't get here"  
"No, definitely no halflings, he would have been noticed. Why, what's happened"  
Rangor filled her in on his mission, and the part she played in it, and how Melak was sent here to tell her.  
She looked thoughtful for a moment. "I would guess he's been taken prisoner by the orcs, if he is that young. He would have been taken to Crushbone, the slavers pit"  
"That's not good. I've seen what the pits can do to people."

"Don't worry, you'll be back in a few hours." Melak had tried talking to his fellow prisoners. A wood elf male, high elf female, and a dwarf. Dwarves always confused him, due to the fact that both genders grew beards. He thought he would know this dwarf's gender when it spoke, but it turns out all dwarves have deep voices.  
He had been here, what, a day? Felt like a week. Everyone was hostile, even the other slaves. Everytime he'd tried to engage them in conversation, he was told to be quite. An orc overheard him, and Melak got a few whips. Melak pretended not to notice, but the dwarf smirked when it happened. He'd obviously been here a while, got his fair share of whippings, and was glad to see someone else get the pain instead.  
It didn't really bother him. When the orc wasn't looking, he placed his hands on the wounds and Bristlebane's power flowed through his hands, healing them. He hoped he wouldn't get whipped again anytime soon, as he wouldn't be able to do that again for some time. Soon, he would be skilled enough to learn how to cast real spells, and to heal himself more often. But, sadly, he wasn't skilled enough yet.  
A noise from outside made him pay attention. He saw a dwarf in the shadows, who was not a prisoner. Melak's hope began to rise. The dwarf stepped out of the shadows, red beard blowing in the draughty room. He raised his sword, and screamed as he ran to the orc slaver nearest him.  
The dwarf parried the orcs blows easily, but the orc managed to get a few hits in. The orc was losing fast, but it was going to be close. The orc had almost lost, when the unexpected happened.  
The dwarf prisoner began to chant, and a blue aura surrounded his hands, which then shot over to heal the orcs wounds. A second chant, and the orc was back to full health, wounds gone, facing a rather battered dwarf.  
Red Beard looked at the prisoners, one and all, with an expression of betrayal, which soon gave way to confusion as a rusty sword was plunged into his stomach. The orc dragged the body away, and there was a heavy but quiet splash. The orcish slaver returned to his post, as if nothing had happened.

From Felwithe, head north and you reach another elvish town, this one based in trees, named Kelethin. It is the home of wood elves, and is the place where most druids are born. Rangor had thought about going there on his way past, but decided against it.  
Further north is Crushbone, the lair of the Faydwer orcs. They had been at war with the wood elves for a while. It used to be a full scale war, but had turned to mere skirmishes when Emporer Crush realised the elves were too strong. Crush now relied on his Teir'Dal ambassador to supply reinforcments. Soon, D'Vinn promised. Always soon. The dark elf army would march here and wipe out the wood elves. Soon.  
Until then, it was elf versus orc. A few orcs were huddled in the tents by a hill. A small orc was sent out to Rangor.  
All orcs looked the same to Rangor, but then, all dwarves must look the same to orcs. He assumed it was the same orcs, but the smaller orc must be a different one. Even an orc wouldn't fall for the same trick twice.  
The orc rushed him with his axe beared and slashed Rangor's stomach. Rangor fell and was very still.  
The other orcs were caught off guard, and approached Rangor, congratulating the killer orc. They didn't see Rangor's daggers until they were burried in two of their friends. Within seconds, only the young orc was standing. Well, running, anyway.  
Enough fun. Crushbone was near, and Rangor had a duty to rescue the halfling.

The dwarf had indeed been a prisoner here for a while. He had seen many adventurers barge into the slavers pit, and seen them all die. Once, he had tried to heal one of the hero's himself, and got a lot of pain when the hero died regardless, almost more pain than the dwarf could handle. So, now, he took the approach that he would never be rescued, and would prefer not to be whipped. If that meant healing the orcs to curry favour, so be it.  
Melak couldn't believe this corrupt cleric. Everytime he looked at him, he could see that he was beyond hope. If he was rescued, he would probably go straight to the warden and have his would-be rescuers caught. He really pitied him.  
"Shhhh"  
Melak looked around. The other prisoners were working away, the slavers were picking their noses. No one else was around.  
"Where are the keys kept"  
Rangor's tone meant he was hidden close by, but out of sight.  
"The slavers keep them in their pockets." he whispered back to the thin air. The shadows became somehow emptier, if that were possible. Rangor had moved on.  
A deep yell of pain came from behind him, and Rangor's dagger was sticking out of an orc's back. The cleric would not be able to easily heal that wound. Rangor pulled out his sword and sliced at the orc a few times. The orc had no hope in blocking any of his thrusts. As it fell, a second slaver took Rangor on. Rangor blocked the axe blow with his sword and jabbed at the orc's face with his second dagger. Another jab saw the thing blinded. A forceful thrust to the stomach made the orc stumble back far enough for Rangor to bring his sword around in a powerful arc that caused the orc's throat to spill it's blood. It collapsed.  
A flash of pain and some bright colours accompanied a sharp punch to the back of Rangor's head. Momentarily stunned, he took a few more beatings from the new attacker until he came to his senses. Thousands of years of working in mines gave dwarves thick skulls to protect against falling rocks, so there would be no lasting damage. But, for the moment, there was anger.  
This orc was bigger than the slavers, with more keys. Rangor assumed this was the warden. It laid into Rangor a few more times, causing pain where it struck. Rangor got a few hits back on the warden, but the wounds were healed soon after. He wasn't daft, he knew where the heals were coming from, but he ignored the enemy's healer, for the moment.  
Rangor stood back, and made a few flashing moves with his dagger, and twirled his sword around. The moves were done with precision, with speed. They weren't meant to cause harm, but instead show the opponent that this was a master of weapons, and is someone very dangerous. A moment of doubt flashed in the warden's eyes while he weighed his odds. He then turned and ran.  
Rangor retrieved his dagger from the first orc, and searched both corpses. There were a total of 3 keys. He freed Melak and the wood elf. He looked at the high elf and the dwarf prisoners. The dwarf's eyes showed a glint of hope, but was quickly dashed. Rangor used the key to free the high elf, leaving the dwarven cleric in the slaver pit. Even hero's can bear a grudge. 


	3. Charmed

Melak had rested a while in Felwithe. He had a few cuts and bruises from what the slavers did to him, but he was fine. To tell the truth, he was kinda happy with his scars, he thought they made him look tougher. The cleric, Rangor's friend, had suggested the three of them head back to Crushbone. Under their supervision, he could practise his fighting techniques on the orcs, become a more formidible paladin. It would also bring him closer to the point where the paladin guild masters would consider him skilled enough to start using spells. Lay Hands was all well and good, but to actually use a healing spell, as well as others, would be awesome.

The pawns were no longer a problem. He could dispatch them easily enough. He had "graduated" to the centurions, bigger orcs. He couldn't wait until he was able to take on the biggest of the orcs, the Legionnaires. He'd then be able to get his revenge on the slavers, and maybe the warden himself.

His mind going to the humiliation he received recently, his fighting became more intense, taking his rage and frustration out on the orcs in front of him. Weeno layed a calming hand on his shoulder, telling him to be calm, and organise his thoughts. If he surrendered to the rage, the darkness of his soul, he would be no better than a shadow knight, the anti-thesis of paladins. Melak took this in, and concerntrated on his skill, not his revenge.

Melak had grown in confidence. Rangor and Weeno held back, and Melak hadn't noticed that she wasn't using a healing spell even half as much as when they first entered Crushbone.

Weeno turned to Rangor, smile fading slightly.

"I can't go with you. I have prior commitments." Rangor studied the floor for a few seconds. "This is to do with your 'guild' isn't it?"

"Yes." she replied, simply.

"A bunch of people, all joined, telling each other what to do. When they tell you to do something, you drop everything to obey. It just doesn't sound... right."

"What would you have me do? Break my word?" The dwarf winced. "It's not how you imagine it. We're not a cult, we're more like an extended family. Everyone gets along with everyone else. As much as I'd love to join your quest, I can't. I'm sorry." Something seemed to surface in Weeno's memory. "I do have a small favour to ask, which would actually benefit you as well. Can you invite Yoono along with you?" Rangor felt like he'd been physically hit, although he chose not to show it. She would just question him why her words hurt, and he didn't want to explain.

"Yoono and I... don't get along too well. I tend to say things which annoy him, and he tends to breath, which annoys me."

"Please?"

Rangor stood sharply, and took a few steps, intentionally keeping his back to her to avoid looking at her. "No, it's just not possible. He wouldn't know what he's getting himself into. I... couldn't do that to him."

He felt her hand on his arm. He turned, and looked stright into her blue eyes. She repeated, slightly more quietly, "Please?"

He felt his resolve melting away. He sat down, and said, "Fine. Me and Melak will head to Ak'Anon and fetch him."

Weeno sat beside him, smiled, and put her hand on his leg in a comforting way.

The two friends sat in silence for a while, seemingly facinated by the patterns of dirt in front of them. There was a short cry of pain, and Weeno stood again to heal the halfling, whom they had both forgotten was there.

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The journey from Crushbone to Ak'Anon was longer than Kaladim to Felwithe. They made a short stop in Felwithe for rest and supplies, said goodbye to Weeno, and headed through the Greater Faydark. There was a pass that lead to the Lesser Faydark, a dangerous place. Before heading through the pass, Rangor looked into the distance. He saw some spires. Only wizards ever used them, unless they were taking others on short trips, which they charged a fortune for. How else could people travel from one continent to another in a matter of minutes? All it took was for a wizard to open a portal around your body, compress you into an infinitely small size, and send your body whizzing though Gods only know where, and, if you were lucky, ending up in one piece at some spires. Only wizards and druids had that kind of power, and there was no way he was trusting anyone enough to do that to him. He'd rather walk.

He warned Melak of the dangers of the area. If you were evil, then there was a unicorn to fear. There were also brownie's and the undead and other dangers. As long as you stick to the edges of the area until you reach Steamfont, you should survive.

They survived. Steamfont was a very uneven place. Only a few area's had flat ground. Those parts were populated with kobalds of some kind.

On the route between Lesser Faydark and Ak'Anon, they saw a couple of ogres throwing something between them. They slowed down to get a better look without being disturbed, and saw.

There was a male and female ogrem tossing a gnome to each other, as if they were waiting for the other to drop him. Rangor felt annoyed, so moved in closer to stop this gross game.

As he got nearer, one of the ogres blinked, and put the gnome down gently. She then walked to the male, and proceeded to hit him. The male was as confused as Rangor, and put up a weak fight, not sure what was going on. He began to fight back more, until she ran off. He was left standing in a clearing, with a battered and stunned gnome sitting nearby, wondering what had just happened.

Without warning, an Earth Elemental screeched (without a real mouth, that must have been difficult), and headed straight for the him. A very cold shiver ran down his spine, and he turned and fled after his companion. Rangor revealed himself, and faced up to the creature. It screeched again, trying to get the dwarf to run away. Rangor had the urge to put his knife in the creature's chest, but something told him to see what happened.

The creature got bored, and it's image began to waver, and shrink, becoming a gnome.

They stared at each other for a few seconds, until the gnome broke the silence.

"Hail, Rangor." Yoono stated in a cheery voice.

"Hail yourself. Do you make it a habit to attempt suicide like that?"

"What do you mean?"

"If I'd stuck my knife up to it's hilt in the elemental's chest, what would you have done?"

"Collapsed and died, most probably. But you wouldn't have done anything unless I'd made a threatening move, I know that."

"Don't be so sure." Rangor replied, but only half hearted. It was the truth.

Yoono walked over to the younger gnome, and began to bind his wounds with some bandages from his pocket.

"This is Dungo, a young mage. He'd been warned about ogre sightings, but paid no heed. Pretty sure he's learned his lesson now, eh? Rang, can you carry him to Ak'Anon? Too heavy for me."

Rangor flinched at the abbreviation of his name. One of the many thing this gnome did to annoy him. He picked Dungo up, and carried him to the gnome town.

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Rangor, Melak, Yoono and Dungo sat in a small room, waiting for the clerics to come and see to Dungo, to fix what Yoono couldn't.

Rangor had laid out his quest, and was waiting for Yoono's excuses as to why he couldn't join the group.

"I would love to go along," Yoono began, "but I'm afraid I'm doing something else."

"What are you doing?"

"Not sure yet. But something less dangerous to my health, like minotaur wrestling."

Rangor remained silent, just looking at him.

"So," Yoono continued, "you want me to face uncertain death for an oath you made a long time ago. An oath made before we even met. For a cause I don't actually believe in. Sure thing. Let's go."

Melak smiled and stood up, and prepared to go. Rangor nodded at him to sit down. Yoono frowned.

"I see the Halfling doesn't understand the concept of sarcasm yet. Rare for his race. Well, sorry, not convinced. You're going to have to do it without me."

Rangor nodded. "Fine. I knew you wouldn't agree to it. I'll let Weeno know you let us down as we pass Felwithe. Good day to you."

Yoono almost lept into their path to stop them leaving the room.

"Weeno asked you to come here?"

"Yep. She said you needed to go out and see the world. Said it'd do you good. Never mind, I'm sure when I tell her, she'll cancel the plans she made with her guild and come with us instead. I'm sure that wouldn't bother her in the slightest."

Yoono hung his head down, defeated. The clerics walked in to take Dungo away.

"Fine." he said in a depressed tone. "I'll come. Let me just let me go with Dungo, and I'll be back to sort my gear out." He turned to Melak. "A word of advice. Don't get married. Your wife will have more control over you than mages have over their pets."

With that, the gnomes all left the room, leaving Rangor and Melak alone. Melak was trying to understand what he had just been told. He looked at the dwarf.

"Does that mean that he, a gnome, is married to Weeno, a high elf?"

"Yep."

"The elf that you..." Melak started.

"Yep." Rangor interupted.

Melak thought for a while. "I've never heard of a gnome elf marriage. Don't their people mind?"

"The elders don't like it, but there's not much they can do. Once their folk start wandering the world, it's only a matter of time before they start taking an interest in other races."

"Yeah, but, how do they, err... You know..." Melak began to go a little red, trying to ask a question without actually asking.

Rangor looked at the youth, amused at his discomfort. If it was a dwarf asking, there would be no embaressment, just a blunt question.

"It's quite possible they don't, and possibly may never. Not all races do it for fun like halflings and dwarfs. Some just do it out of a need to procreate, to keep their race alive."

Melak liked talking to Rangor. He didn't treat him like a child, and when it was just the two of them speaking, Rangor would unconciously slip into the Halfling language. It was easier to communicate that way than speaking Common. With a world full of so many different races, communication had been a problem to begin with. Over time, it had been agreed that everyone should learn a default language, one that everyone could use to communicate with. They settled on the human tongue, seeing as how it was the most basic language of all the races, and easy to learn. So, when people leave their home towns, they know their native language and what became known as the Common Tongue. Most races still prefer to use their own language though, and only speak Common when they have to.

Some people, mainly casters, learn a few different languages. This helps with researching new spells. Rangor had learned a few languages too. This made it easier to trade in towns, and being a rogue, he could overhear secret conversations that others wouldn't understand. There was still a lot of languages for him to learn, however. But he was confident he'd master them all in time.

Yoono came back in the room, carrying some satchels. They were small, and looked like the sort that magicians would summon with their spells. They had obviously been summoned by Dungo, seeing how he was young and these were small. The more experienced mages could summon larger bags.

"Dungo made these for us," Yoono confirmed, "as thanks for saving him. I thought they might be useful to put some supplies in for the trip. It'll take a while to get to the docks, and we might get hungry on the way. Besides, I'm running low on Bloodstones. I could sell a backpack to raise money to get some."

Rangor kept quite. He wasn't opposed to lending money, or buying for others, but the gnome obviously had a plan, and it'd be a shame to ruin it. They gathered their equipment, made a few stops to get supplies, and headed to Butcherblock Mountains.

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As they passed through the Greater Faydark, the wizard spires had sent a large spell straight up. Normally they travel through the sky, from spire to spire. This one had obviously gone wrong. The wizard involved was going to be surprised when he landed on the moon, of all places.

As they approached the docks, there was a dark elf on the path, waiting. It was the same elf Rangor had seen this morning. Rangor rubbed his scar without thinking. He was expecting trouble. The dark elf saw the dwarf, and smiled. As the small group approached, he drew a couple of daggers. Okay then, trouble it was.

Rangor pulled out his own daggers, and prepared for a fight. As the 2 fighters clashed, Rangor heard some muttered words from Yoono, and barely a few seconds into the fight, his opponent froze, his face going blank, glowing lights surrounding his head. Rangor turned to Yoono, who smiled at him.

"Don't worry, I mesmerised him. He'll be out of it for a minute or two."

The look on Rangor's face showed that he wasn't best pleased at the situation. He hadn't been in a decent fight for a while. The orcs didn't count, they weren't exactly smart, and relied on brute strength. This dark elf had intrigued him most of the day, and the fight looked like it was going to be interesting.

Another part of him was annoyed at himself. He should have said he wanted to solo his opponent. As it was, three against one wasn't exactly fair odds.

The spell wore off, and the dark elf blinked a few times. He looked from Rangor to Yoono, and back again, then shook his head.

"Too scared to fight your own battles, you need your opponents frozen. You coward." He spat on the floor in disgust and walked off, adding, "This isn't the last of it."

Rangor wanted to fight the elf, or even the gnome. Someone. He felt frustrated, at Yoono, at himself, at the world in general.

A small goblin sauntered past, saw them, and tried to keep it's distance. Dumb they may be, but not suicidal. For the first time in as long as Rangor could remember, he ignored it. If he did fight it, he would end up using so much force, trying to take out all his rage on this one goblin, the fight would be over in seconds, leaving him more frustrated. So he lead his small party to the docks. They'd rest on the boat, and everyone would feel better in the morning. 


End file.
